Saundra Mitchell - All Out - The No-Longer-Secret Stories Of Queer Teens Throughout The Ages

Clara was deciding how best to execute their escape, when she heard a shout, “You there! Lad!”

Pearl stood at the stern of the sloop, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, one hand resting on the boom for balance, the sword in her other. She looked every bit a boy in her breeches and waistcoat.

Without wasting a second, Clara whistled and tossed her cocked hat to Pearl, who snatched it out of the air and pressed it on her head. Next, Clara scooped up the still-damp yellow dress and tucked it in the narrow hold of the sloop’s nose. She finished just as the two men spotted them through the reeds and called out again, “We don’t mean you no harm, lad. You can put the sword away.”

The voice was terribly familiar. By the way Pearl’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, she thought so, too.

“We’re looking for a girl. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

Now Clara recognized the voice. It was that of the man who’d called out to her yesterday afternoon. Pearl’s brother, William, which meant the shorter man standing to his side was Mr. Pitts.

Pearl made no move to answer. In response, her brother began to push through the reeds. “Lad?” he called, coming into full view. His eyes landed on the sails. Though still wrapped and bound, they were glaringly yellow.

Clara jumped to her feet and moved to Pearl’s side. “Please excuse my brother. He’s not much for conversation so early in the morning. I’m afraid I’m the only girl we’ve seen.”

Pearl’s brother stopped, eyes settling on Clara’s face. It was still dim, but he was near enough now to see her clearly. His dark brown eyes traveled from her to Pearl’s tucked chin with a hint of suspicion.

“We’re out for the crabs,” Clara offered, attempting to draw his focus back to her. “We’ve got traps down the river. But best of luck finding your girl.”

Now Mr. Pitts stood forward, his narrow nose reaching only to William’s shoulder. He raked his eyes from one girl to the other, but it was the boat he settled on, studying it for a long minute.

“You were alone yesterday.” Mr. Pitts’s voice was as dense as his gut.

Pearl shrugged, careful to keep her head bent away from the bruising gaze of Mr. Pitts. “So I was.”

Clara could hear the slight shudder in Pearl’s breath, but Clara wasn’t afraid. She smiled kindly at the men, then gave Pearl a shove. “The mainsail won’t raise itself, Jack.”

Pearl took the invitation, throwing herself at the mast though she didn’t have a clue how to do as instructed. But it didn’t matter. The men, convinced these two had nothing to offer them, moved along down the banks of the river.

Clara joined her friend at the mast, quickly loosing the riggings and raising the sail. Within minutes, they were back on the river, riding the wind away from trouble.

“Jack!” Clara crowed when she was sure they’d put enough distance between them and the men. “Do you know what this means?”

“That I owe you twice over?” Pearl’s voice was drawn tight as the sail.

“Yes, but also, it means we don’t have to be boys.” Clara danced to her friend’s side to steal the hat from her head and place it on her own. “They only have to think we are and we can be whatever we desire.”

A smile teased at Pearl’s lips. Clara pressed her advantage.

“What do you say, Pearl? Come with me to Carolina. Join my crew. Be my pirate brother.”

The sun slid glittering pink across the river, gilding the horizon in layers of light like silk. It looked like treasure.

Pearl’s chin tipped down as she studied her boy’s clothing. She smoothed one hand over the fabric of her waistcoat with an expression that settled somewhere between distress and wonder. Her silence felt heavy like the prelude to disappointment, and Clara felt an unexpected pang in her chest.

But then Pearl’s hand was in Clara’s, her eyes flashing like sunrise and steel swords and stolen kisses.

Clara held her breath until Pearl gave her answer.

“I say you’d better get used to calling me Jack.”

* * * * *

AND THEY DON’T KISS AT THE END

BY NILAH MAGRUDER

Maryland, 1976

She listened to the sizzle of the neon sign overhead and pulled her jacket tighter around her in the early-autumn chill. Her left shoulder was weighed down by the pair of roller skates her parents had bought her for Christmas, the pair she’d hinted and begged and cried for, a jaunty light brown with slick red wheels. She tilted her head and searched the street for an untidy mop of curly dark hair poised atop a skinny frame.

Because if she saw Vince Ramirez anywhere near the skate rink tonight, she was taking her tail straight home.

Dee’s friends knew she brooked no nonsense. She wasn’t about to let herself get caught in some black-teen The Parent Trap by nosy, overly concerned friends who thought they knew what she needed better than she did.

But Lori had promised her Vince wouldn’t be there. Apparently he’d stopped coming to the rink just after she had. Maybe she was the only reason he came out skating at all, but she wasn’t thinking about that. She was just keeping an eye on all the other kids laughing and running into the rink for Skateblast Saturday Fun Night.

So far, what Lori had told her looked to be true. The rink was safe. It was hers again.

She stood a little straighter. A shock of nerves ran through her when she saw Lori making her way up the street with MaryAnn and Roger behind her. But Vince wasn’t with them.

“Sorry,” said Lori with a big grin as she wrapped her arms around Dee’s shoulders. “You been waiting long?”

Dee shrugged. “Not really.”

“This fool,” said MaryAnn, and she elbowed the tall boy leaning over her like a wilting willow, “changed his shirt about five times.”

“Hey,” said Roger, who was fingering the edges of his fro even as he spoke. “You said you like your man looking sharp.”

The two began to bicker. Lori rolled her eyes and gave Dee a conspiratorial grin. Dee laughed, and the two of them headed arm in arm up to the counter to pay their admission. They were still early. The floor was only starting to fill up. In an hour it’d be full of gliding bodies, all a blur under the strobing, tinted lights.

Dee and Lori sat side by side on a bench. Dee pulled the red laces of her skates snug, flexed her ankles and toes and stood. Three weeks she had been avoiding the rink. She hadn’t gone so long without skating since the previous summer when she’d caught bronchitis.

She stepped onto the slick surface with practiced ease, one foot and then a push with the other. She was a long way from the tiny girl she used to be who couldn’t get onto the rink without clinging to the wall. She was already pacing ahead of Lori, Roger and MaryAnn, but she didn’t look behind her. They’d catch up.

She let her momentum carry her into the bend at the end of the rink and then crossed the right foot over the left to glide through the turn. She’d missed this. Skating was so much easier than avoiding Vince. They didn’t have any classes together, thank God, but he seemed to be everywhere anyway. She’d stopped going to the library, too, because she didn’t want to take unnecessary chances. Which meant most days she got through school as quickly as possible and then booked it for the bus home.

But Vince was a good guy, a really good guy, so he wasn’t trying too hard to seek her out. It was probably driving him nuts that he didn’t know why she’d cut him off and wouldn’t explain. She couldn’t remember a single day since they’d met that they weren’t talking in between classes or hanging out in the library at lunch or hanging out after school.

Her dad had asked last Sunday why he wasn’t over watching American Bandstand with them, which she thought was the greatest injustice. He was always fussing about that walking-stick boy with the bad haircut hanging around their house like he didn’t have anywhere better to be—and he was full of it, because a couple times Dee had run upstairs and caught them talking about basketball enthusiastically when she came back down. “Well, at least he’s not over here eating all our food like usual,” her dad had said, even though he was always the one who reminded mom to set an extra plate.